Eventually I exhausted all the work there was for me in Brill. I kept expecting to see Vaalis again, and I would anxiously look around Gallow's End (that's the name of the inn in Brill) whenever I came back to town to repair my armour or read in my rented room. I was proud of the progress I'd made with my fighting and Orcish and kind of wanted him to see what I could do. Also, after talking to the other Forsaken in Brill I was burning with questions; mostly about why he acted like a benefactor to me when he didn't need to. I waited around for a few days in Brill tapping my feet and twiddling my decaying thumbs before I packed up and left for Undercity.
As an aside, I physically reeled when I discovered the Undercity Forsaken spoke of was actually -the- Undercity of Lordaeron. I had not remembered names like Trisfall Glades or Brill when I came out of my gave and assumed I was in some new, foreign part of Azeroth rather than the backyard of Lordaeron; where I am confident I spent my time alive. I suspect geography was not a pressing concern for me then. It's a source of endless frustration how even small memories of my time spent living are remembered painstakingly slowly for me; but more on that later.
Oh, and another thing. Undercity? Really? I know thinking up a clever name probably wasn't priority number one when the Dark Lady was doing whatever it was she did to free us from the Lich King and take Lordaeron but still... We just went with the name it had already? I'm still pulling worms out of my ears because my brain was rotting and I can think up a better name right now on the spot. Like:
Forsakentopia.
Windrunnervile.
Dead town.
No, I'm serious. Dead town would be better. If we're going to name cities after what they literally are let's just go for broke and make it mildly amusing. At least that way when someone unrolls a map of the Eastern Kingdoms they'll get a little chuckle. But hey, I guess whoever thought sticking with the original name was a good idea might also be the same genius who thought we needed more skulls in the city architecture. Yeah, the other races get it. We're dead. It doesn't mean anyone who gets off the elevator has to see three hundred stone skulls carved into the walls. I like skulls too, but I'm just saying with the time it took to carve all those skulls we could have made it so elevators don't break the legs of new visitors to the city (to be fair, it's really funny to hear it happen the first few times). Would a chime to indicate the elevator is about to go down kill us again? Really?
I've seen that transportation orb the Sin'Dorei have, don't tell me we couldn't get one of those.
But where was I?
Undercity seemed like the most logical place to go. After nervously eavesdropping on as many Forsaken conversations as I could in Brill to learn more about the place I formed some kind of plan around going there. I wanted to at least look at the Dark Lady once and I needed some professional help with my swordsmanship, believing that I had learned all that I could on my own. A Brill Deathguard saw me dispatch a bat that had wandered close to town one day and commented that I fought like a fledgling Deathstalker. I nodded silently at his observation, not wanting to inform him that I hid in some bushes before making my attack because I had to gather my nerve. Don't judge me, some of those bats are as big as a Orc.
Oh, speaking of Orcs. Did you know they guard Undercity? I was very excited to see them when I got off the elevator for the first time; I'd read about them and the other races of the horde in my history books and I was learning their language. Eagerly I ran up to one to ask for directions and have my first real conversation in Orcish. It went a little something like this:
Me: "Greetings to you green ally in arms. I am been wondering if this honourable weather you find pleasant? Or perhaps you share triumph most personal from news floated down from Northrend? Pardon my weak Orcish as my bird is orange."In hindsight, I may I have started making less sense at the end because the guard turned to me and brandished his axe. I was more concerned on how large of a weapon it was rather than conjugating my verbs properly. However when he spoke, I understood perfectly. I guess fear does that.
Scary Orcish guard: "I bet you rotters thought you were pretty clever at the Wrath Gate, didn't you? Playtime's over. We're here to make sure you don't try anything. I'll tell you what you need to know, but I don't have to like it. We're watching you and your kind."This is an odd time to bring this up, but I can actually still salivate slightly in my undead state. Until this moment, I was very proud of of my limited saliva production; I considered it a little something that me special. However having this giant armoured Orcish guard stare me down made me realize I gulp nervously in stressful situations, which makes it very hard to appear terse and stoic. I had ambitions to learn alchemy as a trade, since I had heard it paired nicely with herb gathering. This appealed to me twofold, as I found I could identify the names of the some of the local flora in Trisfall and the occasional healing potion I picked pocketed from Scarlets was most helpful.
I fidgeted nervously for a moment, gulped loudly, and the squeaked out what I hopped were the right words for 'Alchemy Learning' in Orcish. The guard growled at me, saying "Doctor Herbert Halsey is who you want. Just don't try anything funny. Any more of that plague nonsense and you'll find an axe in uncomfortable places." He then turned back to his post and I sprinted off further into the city, my head spinning with questions about the Orcish guards and their distrust of the Forsaken.
I never found Herbert Halsey that day, but I found the Rogue quarter and the trainers within. Forsaken don't pull punches when it comes to criticism, but I weathered the verbal abuse well from the Death Stalkers and weapon masters I bought training from. The most memorable comments by far came from Gregory Charles. I vividly remember wincing the first time he asked me to prepare for a attack and he laughed, asking "What stance is that? The wounded Barrens giraffe?" in between peels of laughter. Asshole. After a few days of training I thought I had improved, but he asked if I was sure I came out of the grave with my own arms - since my coordination was so poor.
Yeah, I know. I actually paid him. I try not to think about it. It took some time, but eventually my trainers told me to go out and fight a bit on my own. Then I could come back and give them more money. I was walking away from the circle of Deathstalker trainers and grumbling to myself when I heard someone call out to me. I turned around, hoping to see Vaalis but instead there was a Forsaken in a tuxedo, waving at me from the stone benches before the bridge across the quarter. Sighing, I approached him.
"Looks like you still have some dirt on your shoulders." I thought it was a strange thing to call someone over to say, but I looked over to my armour to bush away the offending dirt. He chucked at me and explained it was a expression Forsaken use to describe someone fresh out of the grave. "I'm Franklin Lloyd, a humble Engineering trainer. I take it you have yet to find a profession?" I wished I had eyes to roll, I wasn't in the mood for a sales pitch. I told him I was sorry, but I was just going to check my mail and leave town. I didn't mention I had no idea where I was going after I left, since I was trying to not to think about it. He chucked again at me. "A shame, engineering is a trade unlike any other." When I didn't turn around immediately after that and walk away he must have taken it as a cue to keep going, so he elaborated.
"Tailors, Smiths and Scribes are very limited. They make many varieties of few things, it's uninspired. Engineers solve problems, they create and invent. Guns, ammunition, bombs, clockwork gadgets, remotes, parachutes, rockets and even some modes of travel are all products of the engineer." I didn't realize it at the time, but his speech was well rehearsed. He even lit off a firework for his big finale. I stared at the sparks trailing down from the celling in the Rogues quarter, my eye sockets wide. I was tempted, but I shook my head. It just wasn 't my style. "Sorry Lloyd, maybe next time I'm around." I turned and left for the trade quarter to check my mail and think about where I was going to go next, since Vaalis obviously wasn't coming back to see me.
I was surprised to see a letter from him in the mailbox, along with a heavy package. I may have actually laughed out loud. I've copied the letter word for word in here, just because it was my first mail since waking up.
Genavie,I read the letter twice more before tearing open the package. I reached in and pulled out the items inside slowly, holding them reverently. There was a bow that appeared to be crafted from some kind of bone (fitting), two daggers that glowed with enchantments I couldn't identify, and leather chest piece with matching shoulders. On the rare occasions I speak about my early days as a Forsaken I mention Vaalis made me the Deathstalker I am today, and then nod to my armour and weapons.
I understand you've chosen the path of a Deathstalker, very good. Enclosed are some old heirlooms I no longer have use for, they will last you many seasons and are enchanted with potent magic. Use them well. When you are ready, make your way south of the Undercity to the Sepulcher and busy yourself there. We will meet again soon.
-Vaalis
The gifts were beautiful and precious in my eyes, but after fitting myself with the armour and equipping the weapons I contemplated their meaning. Clearly Vaalis had a great deal invested in me, at least monetarily. The obvious explanation for his generosity is that we might have had ties in life, but after considering I didn't (and still don't) believe it to be the case. Mostly because we bear no resemblance or physical likeness. I became distressed, knowing that next time we met I would have a world of questions for him, but his responses would be laboured and slow due to his lack of jaw. I considered carrying parchment and paper and asking him to write rather than speak, but dripping the quill in ink to write is a slow process, and I'm not a quick reader.
A few hours later, I threw a bag of coins on the stone bench beside Franklin Lloyd and grinned. When he looked up from the schematic he was reading and saw me, I said one word.
"Sold."
"Book that I Write in" is the journal of Genavie, a Forsaken Deathstalker. The story is ongoing and based off of actual roleplay done with the character on Wyrmrest Accord - US. The first entry can be found here.
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